It is raining in rivers this morning. In my neighbourhood, the usually sedate metalled roads are playing host to frothing streams, and that is just fine by me.
My daily writing exercises are making my work flow, too, and that isn’t bad. Most of them yesterday, and the day before, were about rain. This is because I’m writing a short story where it rains throughout, in the past, in the present, and even in the imaginary future.
So maybe I was calling to the rain, and when I sit down for my writing exercise today (rather like the daily back and leg stretches I do), I only need look out of the window to find the right words, and hopefully some of them will find their way to the finalised pages of my story.
Somehow, I prefer fish swimming around in my head, than have it attacked by spatters of blood.